


Top or Tail?

by thewaythatwerust



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age of Ultron missing scene, Banter, Bickering, Canon Divergence - Avengers: Age of Ultron (Movie), Clint's farmhouse, Fade to Black, First Time, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Inappropriate Erections, M/M, Mentions of PTSD, Sharing a Bed, THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, sharing a floor, there was only one floor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-01
Updated: 2020-02-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:42:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22128907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewaythatwerust/pseuds/thewaythatwerust
Summary: Steve can feel his face pinching tight as extreme exasperation --that kind that only Tony seems capable of triggering-- rearranges his features. He turns away and lifts the spare pillow Laura had delivered, along with an extra blanket and an apologetic smile, and tosses it on the end of the small bed. “Top or tail?”“Why, Cap, I never would have guessed that was the kind of information you were interested in acquiring. Since you asked so nicely, I usually top, but I’m up for switching if you’re looking for a little tail.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 24
Kudos: 259
Collections: POTS (18+) Stony Stocking 2019





	Top or Tail?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ridley160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridley160/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [Ridley160](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ridley160/pseuds/Ridley160) in the [stony_stocking_2019](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/stony_stocking_2019) collection. 



> For _Ridley160_ who wanted _Sharing a bed at Clint's farmhouse_. Hope you like it!  
> \--  
> Beta'd by FestiveFerret, who is worth her weight in BBQ Shapes, and then some.

“You really didn’t know about Barton’s…” Steve’s voice trails off as he gestures around the small bedroom. “...life?”

“No.” Tony’s voice has a hard edge like he counts it a personal failure for not knowing everyone’s secrets. That edge turns defensive as he turns his eyes on Steve, chin notching higher. “Did you?”

Steve shakes his head, still struggling to accept that Clint had been able to maintain an entirely separate life that no one, save Natasha, had known about. “It makes you wonder what else we don’t know about each other.”

“Yes, clearly, we need to do some kind of team bonding, trust-building exercises. Maybe we can put a pin in hunting for the homicidal AI and go to a retreat together. I don’t know about you, but I could sure use a massage, and some of those delightful little cucumber slices they put over your eyes for no reason.”

Steve can feel his face pinching tight as extreme exasperation --that kind that only Tony seems capable of triggering-- rearranges his features. He turns away and lifts the spare pillow Laura had delivered, along with an extra blanket, and an apologetic smile, and tosses it on the end of the small bed. “Top or tail?”

“Why, Cap, I never would have guessed that was the kind of information you were interested in acquiring. Since you asked so nicely, I usually top, but I’m up for switching if you’re looking for a little tail.”

Steve’s neck warms uncomfortably. “ _Tony._ Are you incapable of being serious?”

"I am serious. There are pros and cons to both positions. What are your thoughts? Have a preference?”

Ignoring the blanket --and Tony-- Steve climbs onto the small bed, claiming the top end, moving back as much as possible, his ass hanging off the edge.

Tony looks down at him, his eyes traveling the length of Steve's body slowly. He frowns. “You look ridiculous, Goldilocks.” He clears the floor next to the bed, sweeping some Legos out of the way with his foot, grabs the pillow, and drops it into the newly toy-free space.

“What are you doing?” Steve props himself on one arm to better track Tony’s movements as he lowers himself to the floor with a groan.

“Clearly, I’m making balloon animals, Rogers. Got any requests?” He reaches a hand up onto the bed, hopping it around until it lands on the folded extra blanket, and tugs it down.

“You can’t sleep on the floor.” Steve peers over the bed, frowning down as Tony places the blanket next to him, crosses his arms behind his head on the pillow, and closes his eyes.

“You seem to be laboring under the delusion that you have any say over what I do.” His lips curve up condescendingly. “It’s adorable.”

Steve sits up on the bed, swinging his legs over the edge and pushing to his feet. “If anyone is going to sleep on the floor, it’ll be me.”

“What makes you think you’re more floor-friendly than I am?”

"I’m used to it. I spent a lot of time on the ground in the army, but I’m willing to wager you’ve never spent a night off of a mattress in your life.” Steve steps over Tony, picks up the Lego bricks, and places them on the small dresser near the window. He drops his pillow on the narrow strip of hardwood left beside Tony’s feet, lowering himself to the floor easily, crossing his ankles, and shifting them as far from Tony’s head as he’s able, bumping them against the wall.

“I’ll have you know, I have spent many nights on a variety of less-than-five-star-surfaces. And that’s just the ones I remember.” Tony’s usual glib voice is wound tight.  
  
A twinge of guilt slices sharp through Steve’s gut, recalling Tony’s time in Afghanistan. “Tony--”  
  
Tony cuts him off, the ease returning to his voice. “I’m sure when we were informed we’d have to double up, this is not exactly what they had in mind.” Tony groans as he struggles to his elbows, peering down at Steve in annoyance.

Steve mirrors the action, rising easily before locking eyes and wills with Tony. “There’s a perfectly good bed there, Stark.” The guilt softens the edges of his irritation. 

“Yes, there is, _Captain_. So why don’t you be a good little soldier, follow orders, climb into it, and stop hogging my floor.”

“I’m not about to take the bed while you’re on the floor.”

“Well, _I’m_ not taking the bed while _you’re_ on the floor.”

Steve can’t stop himself rolling his eyes. How on earth does Tony manage to be so damned aggravating? If he says the sky is blue, he’s sure Tony would find a way to argue it’s orange instead. “Then it’s settled, we’ll both spend the night on the floor.”

“Fine,” Tony huffs, lowering himself back down with another groan.

Steve follows suit, sans groan. As he tries to uncoil the Tony-borne tension in his muscles, his mind works on unraveling the knots of surprise surrounding today’s revelation. There’s something hopeful about being here, in Clint’s home. A possibility of a future that Steve had all but given up on. He’s happy for Barton, but it’s not without a slight bite of envy. Even with the world in danger of crumbling around them, though entirely of their --of Tony’s-- making, Clint still has a piece of it all his own. One offering unconditional devotion, warmth, and safety. Somewhere to retreat to. Something to fight for. If Clint could do it, find something outside the Avengers, love to balance duty, maybe he could, too…

His thoughts are disrupted by frustrated noises, an annoying soundtrack to the restless shifting beside him.

“Who knew hardwood was so hard?”

“It’s kind of in the name, Tony.” Steve sighs. “Look, just take the bed, okay? Or you’re going to be hurting tomorrow.”

Tony snorts. “I’m hurting now. And I’m not taking the bed unless you take it, too.”

“I feel like we’ve already had this conversation.” Steve’s fingers rub over his temple. Sleeping on the floor is fine, but Tony is starting to give him a headache.

“Now you don’t want to share a bed with me?” Tony sits up, and Steve can feel the glare even with his eyes closed.

“I just want to sleep. I’m tired.”

“Don’t you think you’d sleep better on a mattress?”

“I’d sleep better without you talking.” Steve grinds his teeth, trying desperately to resist the urge to throw Tony out the small window.

“I’d stop talking if I could get to sleep.”

“ _Go to sleep_.” He spits the words out through clenched teeth, now calculating the odds of Tony surviving the fall without permanent damage.

“If I could go to sleep, I’d be asleep.”

“TONY!” Steve huffs angrily as he sits up. “Jesus. Stark. Enough.” He stands in one quick, fluid movement before dipping back down and wrapping his hands around Tony’s waist. He lifts him from the floor and deposits him on the bed, ignoring the cursing protests. Steve bends again, retrieving the pillows and smacking one hard into Tony’s chest, placing his own up by Tony’s feet on the mattress.

“I would like it noted for the record that I am here because you placed me here, and not--”

“Yes. Fine. It is so noted. Now move over, and please, please _go to sleep_.”

Tony does as he’s asked, mostly, shifting to the very edge of the single bed and looking up at Steve, the frown still creasing his brows together.

Steve climbs onto the mattress, ignoring the way the frame creaks alarmingly at their combined weight. The mattress dips under him, raising Tony, who squawks and wraps his arms around Steve’s legs to keep himself from tumbling off the edge.

On the bed, Steve's muscles tense. He may have made a tactical oversight. The bed _is_ big enough to fit two, just not comfortably. His face is inches from Tony’s feet --already taking up half his pillow-- and the lengths of their bodies are slotted tightly together in a way that makes it impossible to focus on anything but the feel of Tony pressing against him. He would rather be sharing with Nat. Or Banner. As Tony wriggles against him, Steve adds the Hulk to the list of preferred bed-mates.

The awkward lull is interrupted by the sound of Tony clearing his throat.

“Look, Rogers, I get the idea behind this position, and I applaud you for wanting to protect my virtue in the eyes of the team, but that ship has long since sailed, and I am not going to be able to sleep when I’m forced to share my pillow with your exceptionally large feet, wrapped around you like a love-starved Capuchin.”

Steve doesn’t want to admit that Tony is, in fact, right. _For once._ Even though he is. “It’s fine. I’ll take the floor.”

“No!” Tony’s arms tighten around his legs. "Just.. stay put.”

Steve stifles the general sense of unease that arises at the thought of having Tony in charge of the planning, but he braces his body, and waits.

Tony throws his pillow to the right end of the bed with one arm and awful aim, catching Steve in the face. Muttering a half-hearted “sorry”, Tony clambers over Steve's tense body and slides down against his chest in the limited available space. He curves inward slightly, tucking his ass tight against Steve’s groin.

“Ordinarily I would take issue with this position, but given the logistics of the size of the bed and the size of _you_ , I’ll be the bigger man, metaphorically speaking, and be the little spoon.”

Steve remains mute as Tony settles against him, overwhelmed by the warm heat of Tony’s body nestled next to his in a very intimate way.

“What’s the matter, Cap? Not used to sharing?”

Steve can feel Tony’s voice rumbling through his back and settling into his chest. He shakes his head before realizing Tony can’t see him. “I used to share with Bucky all the time.” Steve shifts slightly as Tony seeks more real estate on the bed, Tony's ass pressing into a sensitive place that Tony’s ass should not be pressing into. “Of course, I was a lot smaller back then.” Steve tries to shift his hips backward, to break the contact, but as if drawn by magnets, Tony’s ass wiggles back until it’s laying flush against him once more.

They lie together in the growing darkness, and though Steve can feel the rhythmic rise and fall of Tony’s chest, the tension coiling in his body betrays his lack of sleep. Steve’s eyes are closed, but the heavy tiredness that had pulled at him only minutes before has been chased away by sparking awareness.

“Tony?”

“Mmm?”

“Do you want this?”

“To be sharing a bed with the hardest human on the planet? No, not particularly, but beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s very slightly better than the floor.”

Steve sighs.

“Ah, not the _this_ you were talking about, obviously. You meant…?”

“This. What Barton has. A home. A family.”

Tony’s quiet for a moment and then, “Someday. Eventually. Maybe? I won’t deny it has appeal. I don’t think I’ve ever really…” He trails off, and Steve waits - a strange, small part of him mourning the lost words.

The sound of Tony clearing his throat, dislodging the broken words, rings loud in the otherwise empty room. “I don’t think I’ve ever really let myself consider it as a viable option. Whether because I never thought I’d live long enough to achieve it, or whether I, ah, I don’t know… I hardly deserve it…” Tony lets his words die again and a tense shoulder lifts and falls, scrubbing over Steve’s chest.

Steve’s breath catches in his throat. This side of Tony is not one he’s seen before. The usual coating of self-deprecation stretches too thin, and the honesty of the words bleed through, plain and raw. He isn’t sure why Tony is opening himself up, being vulnerable, but Steve’s heart twinges inexplicably.

Tony is so far removed from anything he has ever known; Tony’s life is a riot of excess, where Steve is skilled in frugality, and the billionaire’s confident and oftentimes brash demeanor is a direct contrast to his own uncertain modesty. But to hear Tony give voice to the same fears and doubts that plague him, both unsettles and soothes him, understanding dawning that two sides of the same coin, though very different, share the same core.

Steve lets the cover of darkness strip away pretense and ego. “You _do_ deserve it, Tony. And if you decide that’s what you want, I really hope you get it someday.” He sighs, unable to stop himself from adding, “Providing we live long enough to see someday.”

Tony drags in a long, slow breath before answering. “I know we see things differently, but I was just trying to do the right thing. Our paths may conflict at times, but we’re both walking the same road of good intentions.” Tony’s voice is low and earnest, the edges blurring with a desperate plea for understanding that Steve knows he will never put into actual words.

Steve’s stomach clenches painfully. “I know. But I also know where that road leads. And this might have happened anyway, one day, without you. But we’ll never know because you charged off on your own,” Steve states bluntly, though there’s no sting in the tail. He lifts his hand, hesitating before placing it gently on Tony’s shoulder. “We’re a team for a reason, Tony. You should have come to us. We’re here for you -- _I’m_ here for you-- you don’t have to carry the world on your shoulders alone.”

The flash of anger and snappy retort Steve expects never arrives. Instead, Tony’s hand curls around his, and rests there, speaking volumes in the silent room.

For a long moment, they lay connected, soaking in the now companionable quiet. Their chests fill and empty in unison.

“You know,” Tony murmurs, finally drawing his hand away, arching forward before pulling back again, “it’s almost like Barton landed us with the smallest, most uncomfortable mattress in the house on purpose. The hay in the barn would have more loft than this thing.”

“I’m sure no one would mind if you went and spent the night there. You might feel more at home with the smell of grease and collection of machinery.” His smile curls around the words, softening them.

“So you do know something about me after all.” Tony fumbles with his shirt, pulling it over his head and jerking it free from where it’s trapped between his body and the bed. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

Steve’s eyes catch on the expanse of golden skin now on show, his tongue darting out to moisten suddenly dry lips. He is very pleased that it's a rhetorical question, knowing if forced to answer, he would definitely have to admit it’s the latter. Though, as Tony’s back presses to his chest, his own thin t-shirt the only barrier between their skin, Steve has to concede he’s feeling a little more than warm himself.

Tony continues to fidget and shift on the mattress. “What, no comment from the peanut gallery? Even you, who’s spent time in the army and in a block of ice, has to agree this is hard.”

Tony wriggles on the bed, his ass rutting up against Steve’s cock which is rapidly achieving maximum hardness under the continued attention. He curses under his breath, every fiber of his being willing his blood to stop flowing south, knowing it won’t be long before Tony notices and --

“ _Oh_ ,” Tony breathes, his ass stilling.

Too late. Steve bites his lip and waits for the patented Stark brand of soul-destroying mockery. His face is burning so intensely he’s mildly surprised he isn’t glowing in the dim room. An embarrassment-fueled nightlight.

“The mattress has nothing on you," Tony murmurs. "You know, you’re right, it seems there’s a lot we don’t know about each other.”

“Tony…” Steve isn’t sure what he is going to say. Laugh it off? Apologize? Frame it as a purely physical response to the friction? Turn tail and run to the barn? Admit he had been lusting after Tony since the first time he’d laid eyes on him? Steve flushes a little at the thought of sharing that particular secret.

Tony takes the decision out of his hands by removing his ability to form words, pushing back against him, dragging slow and hard. With purpose. “Hell, Rogers, I can’t say I’m not shocked and delighted by these turn of events. Here I was fantasizing about massages when there is another, much more enjoyable stress-relieving activity on offer.”

Steve bites his cheek tersely, his teeth sinking through soft flesh, the metallic tang of blood flowing over his tongue.

“It _is_ on offer, isn’t it?” Tony’s hips rock back again as he lays his head back against Steve’s shoulder. “Captain America always finishes what he starts, right?”

“Tony,” Steve tries again, his voice breathless and holding no conviction at all. “This isn’t a good idea.”

“Really? It sure as hell feels good.” Tony grinds back against him roughly, the urgency of his movements only increasing in the face of Steve’s protests.

“Oh, _Fuck_.” A low, desperate sound bursts from Steve's throat as Tony reaches a hand back to grip his hip, pulling them tighter together. Trapped under the swell of Tony’s ass, his cock throbs, leaking into his sweatpants.

Tony’s hand vanishes from his hip, leaving a lingering heat where it had been. Tony half lifts himself and turns awkwardly, pressing back down against the length of Steve’s body, now chest to chest. Tony grins at him, a flash of white in the darkened room. “ _Language_.”

“This isn’t the time or --” Steve breaks off, pleasure sparking along his nerves and static filling his vision as Tony nips sharply at his neck before salving it with a swipe of his tongue. “--ah, or, uh, the place.”

Tony drives his hips forward again, and Steve can feel the mirrored desire pressing hard against him. “Stop worrying, Steve, I’ll wash the sheets.”

Steve clamps his jaw shut, trying to find one of the _very_ many reasons why this absolutely cannot happen… and can’t think of a single one. “No, you won’t,” he grinds out between clenched teeth.

“No, I won’t,” Tony agrees, stretching out to run his tongue up the column of Steve’s throat, his mouth coming to rest by Steve’s ear. “I’ll buy new sheets. Now shut up and get to know me a little bett--.”

Steve growls, bending his neck to claim Tony’s mouth, swallowing down the rest of his words and the soft moans that follow. He catches Tony’s tongue between his teeth, lips curving into a smile as Tony threads frantic fingers into his hair and tugs him closer, deepening the kiss. The room is quiet but for the wet sounds of greedy lips, and a thrill runs through Steve. If he had known this was such an effective way to shut Stark up, he would have done it years ago.

. . .

Steve comes to consciousness the next morning slowly, registering the solid press of a body against his. _Tony._ He tenses, dragging his eyelids open to find Tony already awake, eyes trained on his face.

“Did you know you do that little jerky, twitchy thing dogs do when they sleep? Like you’re chasing dream-rabbits.” He arches an eyebrow. “Do you chase rabbits in your sleep, Steve?”

Steve laughs, his body uncoiling as relief rushes through him. Tony is acting normal --as normal as Tony ever is-- and not awkward or regretful after last night. For once, Steve’s glad to follow Tony’s lead.

“Good morning to you, too.” His mouth pulls open in a yawn, his hand coming up to cover it before draping over Tony’s body, landing on the small of his back. “How would you know what dogs do in their sleep? Who on earth would give you a pet? You barely manage to keep yourself alive.”

Tony’s hand lifts to swat Steve’s bicep playfully then stays, resting on the sleep-warmed skin. “I’ve had hundreds of pets and didn’t kill a single one.” At Steve’s raised eyebrow, he grins. “I had an ant farm when I was a kid.”

Steve’s head scrubs against the pillow as he shakes his head. “Ants are pests, not pets. That hardly counts.”

Tony’s fingers trace lazy patterns on Steve’s arm as he hums noncommittally. “I beg to differ. And speaking of begging…” Tony trails off, moving against him under the guise of stretching, and Steve bites back a moan at the feel of Tony, already hard, rubbing over him. “...would it be too telling to admit hearing Captain America pleading was the highlight of my night?”

Steve can feel his ears burning.

“Maybe even the highlight of my year.”

“I didn’t --”

“Yes, you did.”

“I--”

“You did. You know it, I know it. But if you want to contest the fact,” Tony trails his hand down Steve’s chest and rides the dip of his abdomen until he gets to the waistband of the sweats, then pauses, “I’d be more than happy to prove the point.”

Steve catches Tony’s hand. Daylight is streaming in through the windows, and he can hear the muffled voices rising from the kitchen below them. He longs to stay in bed, to block out the world and duty, and lose himself in the white-hot pleasure of Tony, but he’s afraid if he does, he may never want to find his way back. He lifts Tony’s hand and entwines their fingers together, pressing their joined hands to his chest. “Later,’ he murmurs and jolts inside. He hadn’t planned this thing with Tony, in fact, he’d actively tried to resist it, but his stomach flutters with the realization of just how much he wants there to be a _later_ , and the truth of it burns across his cheeks.

Tony’s answering smile blooms slowly across his lips and dances up to fill his eyes. “Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me. So many layers.” His lips twitch. “Just like an---

“Don’t you dare say onion.” Steve’s eyes narrow. Tony is not about to compare him to an ogre.

Tony’s face falls. “--Oh. You’ve seen that one, huh?”

“It’s Sam’s favorite movie.”

“Right. Well, I wasn’t going to say onion, I was going to say, like an, uh, a… lasagna.”

Steve’s face twists doubtfully. “Seriously Stark?”

Tony grins. “Uh huh. Meaty, warm, very cheesy, and--” he tugs Steve’s head down for a kiss that leaves them both breathless “--delicious,” he finishes finally, with a low chuckle.

Steve shakes his head, but can’t stop the corners of his lips pushing up. He considers before answering. “Then you would be a tiramisu. Very rich, equal parts bitter and sweet, and filled with way too much coffee.”

Tony’s laugh is loud and genuine, making Steve’s chest swell with warmth and an odd sense of pride.

“Why Steven, I do believe you have gotten down to brass tacks, there’s nothing more you need to know about me.”

Steve releases Tony’s hand to trace the silver ring of scar tissue on his chest. A shiver runs through Tony at the touch, but he doesn’t pull away. “Maybe. But there’s plenty more I want to know.”

“Hmm, like what?”

Dozens of questions swirl in Steve’s mind, but he settles on the one he most wants the answer to right now. “Wanna take a shower with me?”

Tony grins and shifts, draping himself over Steve’s chest. “Well, scrubbing yourself off my skin is the least you could do after making such a mess of me. But there’s one thing I have to do first.”

The warm weight disappears from his chest as Tony shifts to retrieve his phone, and Steve resists the urge to reach out and haul him back. The comforting weight returns of its own accord a moment later, Tony’s fingers already dancing across the device. Steve runs his hands through Tony’s hair, glancing at the screen. “Are you really buying new sheets?”

Tony shakes his head. “After last night, I’m buying the kid a whole new bed, one with a slightly softer-than-rock mattress. And this one we ruined is being taken to the tower. It’ll be the centerpiece of my exclusive Captain America collection.”

Steve laughs and ruffles the hair between his fingers. “Tony, you do not have a collection of, uh, me.”

“I will once the bed is delivered. And you can come…” Tony takes one hand off the phone, dropping it down to curl around Steve through his sweatpants, grinning at his sharp intake of breath “...and see it any time.”

Steve cups Tony’s hand as it squeezes him. “Ah, I’d like that.”

With his free hand, Tony tosses the phone onto the bed and turns dark eyes on Steve. “Done. Now, is it _later_ yet? ‘Cause there’s still a whole lot more of you I’d like to get to know better.”

Steve groans and wraps his arms around Tony, dragging the smaller man with him as he stands. "You talk too much, Stark. Let's see if we can't find something else for you to do with that mouth."  
  
The sparks of lust burning over his skin burrow deep, flames of another kind licking inside his chest. Steve tightens his hold. Maybe that future he had imagined isn't so lost to him after all. Maybe his own little piece of the world has been in front of him this whole time. He may not know everything about Tony, but he knows the things that count. And as for the rest --Steve grins as he captures Tony's hand and tugs him in the direction of the shower-- if last night is anything to go by, half the fun is going to be the finding out.


End file.
